


Hold

by imperfectcircle



Series: Stories by theme: Romance [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Poetry, Sestina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-25
Updated: 2008-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectcircle/pseuds/imperfectcircle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sestina written for kink_bingo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Unanticipated Side Effect of Dosing Oneself with Wraith Enzyme to Deliver an Important Message](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18216) by [bironic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bironic/pseuds/bironic). 



> The following is a double-length sestina written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/kink_bingo/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/kink_bingo/)**kink_bingo**. I've never written pornographic poetry before -- please let me know what you think.
> 
> **Kink**: Collar  
> **Warnings:** None ([see policy](http://imperfectcircle.livejournal.com/29823.html))  
> **With thanks**: To [](http://anotherusedpage.livejournal.com/profile)[**anotherusedpage**](http://anotherusedpage.livejournal.com/) and [](http://apiphile.livejournal.com/profile)[**apiphile**](http://apiphile.livejournal.com/) for beta. This poem owes a debt to [](http://bironic.livejournal.com/profile)[**bironic**](http://bironic.livejournal.com/)'s [An Unanticipated Side Effect...](http://bironic.nostatement.com/unanticipated_side_effect.htm).

_John yearns and burns, runs hot and cold,_  
Prays fiercely not to make a sound  
When Rodney feels too hot, too tight.

The bedroom's reading light now burns  
and Rodney's sheets feel weirdly cold.  
To talk to John would be a not  
so great idea. He can't stand to sound  
so foolish, stupid, like he feels  
right now, his chest becoming tight.

Is this, right now, a heart attack? Tight  
chest pains mean that, right? Lungs burn,  
my god, oh god, is this how death feels?  
Atlantis is doomed, the tingling cold  
his last sensation. He sounds  
delusional, John says. He's not:

this is how death is: not  
knowing whether "stay" risks a tight  
refusal or worse; knowing he sounds  
weak and old and tired and burned.  
Rodney can't see how to be less cold,  
to show and tell with what he feels.

He guesses, sometimes, that John feels  
something, or maybe, or not.  
(But John has a collar, the leather cold,  
which Rodney once buckled too tight.  
John didn't complain. The shame still burns  
of enjoying the hurt, ragged sounds.)

When you put it like that, he sounds  
\-- fine, yes -- crazy. But here it feels  
right. He reaches forward, ready to burn  
his bridges. He can't. He can't not.  
The lines on their faces are tight:  
he sees John ready himself to be cold.

His hands on John's throat are cold  
but heat rushes through them, draws sounds,  
oh god, my god, Rodney's hands get tight,  
he can sense John's pulse -- it feels  
_amazing_, seriously, the bond is not  
like anything else. My god, oh god, it burns.

And with that moment, he burns  
his way into John, no longer cold,  
but open, honest, all that they're not.  
John shows himself, too, through his sounds.  
His moans are ripples that Rodney feels,  
his breath no longer controlled and tight.

The collar could never be this tight;  
that risks reveal by leather burn.  
But Rodney wants it, wants to feel  
all of John now, naked and cold.  
He asks with words, those alien sounds,  
harsh and brittle where breath was not.

That collar's not here, so he knots  
a belt around John's neck. Tighter. Tight.  
It's good. It's right. A shuddering sound  
comes from one of them. They burn  
together. John's hands are cold.  
His cock juts out, Rodney can feel.

He stands back, away. Tries to feel,  
tries to feel in control. Like he's not  
falling, feeling, stranded, cold,  
lost with a man whose vise-tight  
grasp on his soul makes him burn  
with fear hope lust and not a sound

but the beating of his heart. It sounds  
like madness, letting himself feel  
like this over a man who would burn  
his life away on a dime. It's not.  
He reaches forward, grips John tight,  
with hands and mouth fights the cold.

John's cock has not noticed the cold.  
As Rodney kneels, the sucking sounds  
mingle with John's breaths, tight  
gasps, shudders Rodney can feel  
run through them both, willing or not.  
"Yours," Rodney tries. The effort burns.

_John yields and burns, no longer cold,_  
Prays only not to hide a sound  
When Rodney feels so hot, so tight.


End file.
